In which the past comes knocking—with acquisition papers.
Max
The invitation arrived on gold-embossed cardstock, sealed with wax. Dramatic. Pretentious. Peak Charles Whitman.
She almost laughed—until she saw his name at the bottom.
Charles Whitman III.
Of course he'd signed it in full. Even when he'd proposed, he'd made it sound like a boardroom offer.
Max set the invite down. Metropolitan Club. Private Industry Dinner. Tomorrow.
She hadn't seen him since she'd mailed back the three-carat emerald-cut ring with a two-line note and a bottle of Macallan older than their relationship.
Lani stepped into the office, briefing folder in hand. She halted mid-stride when she saw the expression on Max's face.
"What's that?"
Max slid the invitation across her desk.
Lani scanned it, then groaned. "Oh hell no."
"It's business," Max said mildly.
"You were engaged to him."
"I was practical. There's a difference."
The engagement had been a legacy arrangement. Sterling bloodlines, Whitman connections. Her father's dream. Their relationship had been fine—on paper. But Max had chosen power over pedigree. Walked away from marriage, family planning, and Whitman timelines in favor of Sterling Global and her own damn life.
Now, Charles was back.
"You're going," Lani sighed.
"Of course," Max replied. "I want to see what he's playing at."
Because Charles Whitman never showed up without an agenda. And the timing—now, when her relationship with Aurelia was deepening and their companies were entwined—reeked of something more than coincidence.
---
The Metropolitan Club
Charles hadn't changed.
Same navy suit. Same tailored charm. Same watch that probably cost more than most people's cars. The only difference was his eyes—sharper now, and distinctly calculating.
"Max," he greeted, taking her hand with that familiar, smug smile. "You look... expensive."
Max withdrew her hand slowly. "You look like an SEC investigation."
He laughed—perfect pitch, perfect length. "Still sharp. Shall we? You're seated beside me. For old times' sake."
She followed him in.
The room was curated. Quiet sharks and high-level execs. A mix of suits who dealt in power silently. Charles introduced her with the smoothness of someone who never lost a game—his hand briefly resting on the small of her back.
A subtle claim.
She let it happen—for now.
Dinner moved through harmless small talk: market shifts, supply chain gossip, the rise of Asian luxury disruptors. But Max knew Charles. This was setup.
The main act came with dessert.
"As some of you know," Charles began, swirling his cognac, "Whitman-Cove Holdings has launched a new acquisition initiative. We're targeting undervalued luxury brands with unrealized potential."
Max sipped her drink. Waiting.
"Our first target: Kaiser Originals."
That got her attention.
The room quieted.
Charles smiled like he'd just revealed a well-timed investment tip. "We've secured soft commitments from key shareholders. We believe Kaiser's core assets are strong—but underutilized under current leadership."
Translation: We're staging a takeover. Because we think Aurelia's a liability.
Max's jaw tensed.
Charles turned to her, eyes gleaming. "You, of all people, understand the value Kaiser could have under more traditional guidance."
Her grip on the glass tightened. "Does Aurelia know?"
"Not yet. She'll be informed after support solidifies. Standard process."
It was a classic ambush—gather control quietly, strike publicly when the target has no time to rally. Max had led raids like this in her early years.
But this wasn't about strategy.
This was about Aurelia.
Charles leaned in. "I know what she is to you. But we both know where you belong."
There it was.
The personal weapon buried in professional pretense.
"You think I'd help you gut her company out of nostalgia?" she asked, voice low.
"I think you remember the path that makes sense. That you'll come to your senses."
Max looked at him—for a long, flat second.
And then she stood.
"Thank you for the dinner," she said coolly. "But I'm not interested."
Charles didn't miss a beat. "Think it over. The door's open."
"No," Max said, sharp and quiet. "It isn't."
She turned to the table. "Gentlemen. Ladies."
And walked out.
Just as she reached the corridor, she heard Charles behind her:
"She'll remember who she is. Sterlings always do."
She didn't turn.
Didn't give him the satisfaction.
But inside?
Her blood simmered.
Because Charles Whitman III wasn't just after Kaiser.
He was after them—after the fragile, growing connection she and Aurelia were finally letting bloom after storm nights, bruised trust, and cautious mornings.
And he was ready to burn it down just to win.
---
Aurelia
Vivien slammed the door hard enough to rattle the art on Aurelia's walls.
"You're not going to like this," she said, tossing a portfolio onto the desk.
Fabric samples scattered. Aurelia raised an eyebrow. "Good morning to you too."
"Open it," Vivien snapped.
Aurelia flipped open the folder. One logo stopped her cold: Whitman-Cove Holdings.
Inside: a breakdown of Kaiser Originals' shares, projections for a hostile acquisition, and a plan to gut her creative teams to reshape the brand into a "traditional" luxury label.
At the bottom—Charles Whitman III.
"Isn't that—"
"Yes," Vivien cut her off. "Max's ex. The one she left at the altar."
"And now he's trying to buy me out?" Aurelia's voice stayed calm even as fury coiled tight in her chest.
"He's not just coming for Kaiser," Vivien said. "He's coming for Max. He's trying to force her to choose."
The plan was brutally clean. Target Kaiser. Corner Max between loyalty to her family legacy or loyalty to Aurelia.
Aurelia snapped the folder shut.
"Let him try."
"He's already locked Hargrove and WestPoint—almost 18% of your shares."
Aurelia stood, moving to the window, fists clenching. "How did we not see this coming?"
"He used shell companies. Theo flagged anomalies last night—otherwise, we'd still be blind."
"I don't—" Vivien began, but was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.
It opened to reveal a young woman Aurelia recognized as Max's assistant Lani, her expression uncharacteristically serious. "She does now," she said simply. "Charles invited her to a private dinner at the Metropolitan Club last night. Made his pitch directly."
Aurelia felt something cold and hard settle in her chest. "And?"
"And she walked out," Lani replied, the hint of a smile finally touching her lips. "Left him and his investors sitting there with their cognac and their acquisition plans. Then came straight to Sterling Tower and spent half the night trying to reach Ms. Hart."
The last part was directed at Vivien, who had the grace to look slightly chagrined. "I was with Theo, working on this," she said, gesturing toward the portfolio. "Phone was on silent."
Aurelia's chest tightened.
Aurelia gripped her phone. "Is she okay?"
"She's worried. About you."
The answer cracked something inside Aurelia. She hadn't even realized she still doubted, still feared Max would flinch when it mattered most.
But Max hadn't.
She'd chosen Aurelia—again.
"Where is she?"
"Board meeting," Lani said grimly. "Everett Sterling called it this morning."
Of course he had. Sterling legacy and expectations would close ranks fast.
"I need to talk to her," Aurelia said, already typing.
Vivien touched her arm. "We need a response. Fast."
Aurelia nodded. "Call Legal. PR. Get the leadership team ready."
As Vivien moved to organize crisis control, Aurelia turned back to the window, staring into Manhattan's glittering indifference.
Charles Whitman thought he could turn this into leverage.
He was wrong.
Her phone buzzed. Max:
We need to talk. Meet me. Not your office. Not mine. Somewhere they won't look.
Aurelia smiled sharply.
I know just the place.
---
The Bethesda Fountain plaza was nearly deserted under the fading light.
Max was already there—dark jeans, blazer, cap pulled low. Not a disguise, but enough to avoid easy recognition.
She looked up as Aurelia approached, their eyes locking across the empty stone.
They didn't speak until they ducked under the terrace tunnel, away from open view.
"Are you followed?" Aurelia asked.
Max shook her head. "You?"
"Back routes through the Met. No tails."
Max smiled slightly—grim, tired. "You always did know how to vanish when needed."
Aurelia's expression hardened. "Tell me."
Max did—laying out Charles' pitch at the Metropolitan Club, the assembled investors, the pressure to 'remember who she was.'
When she finished, Aurelia's jaw was tight.
"He's banking on fear," she said. "Yours."
"And he's not wrong," Max admitted, voice low. "The Sterling board is conservative. There are clauses—about 'moral conduct.' Charles could make my personal life look like a liability."
Aurelia stepped closer, voice fierce. "Then we fight."
"How?"
"Two fronts," Aurelia said. "Business first. We lock down my investors. Personally. I'll meet with every shareholder if I have to."
Max nodded. "I'll have my team draft projections—show long-term growth, make Charles look shortsighted."
"And I'll pull the creative community," Aurelia added. "Designers. Celebrities. Anyone whose brand depends on Kaiser's vision. Make it clear what they'd lose under Whitman."
"And the second front?" Max asked, softer now.
Aurelia's gaze sharpened. "We control the narrative."
"You mean—go public?"
"Not a press release," Aurelia said dryly. "But no hiding. If Charles threatens, it won't matter—because there'll be nothing left to weaponize."
Max hesitated. "The Sterling board—"
"May surprise you. And even if they don't," Aurelia said, reaching out to brush Max's hand, "you're stronger than the dynasty they expect you to protect."
Max looked at her—really looked—and knew Aurelia was right.
She was tired of hiding.
Tired of being strategic at the cost of being real.
"Tomorrow night," Aurelia said, voice determined. "The Fashion Innovation Summit. Everyone who matters will be there."
"And Charles," Max added grimly.
"Perfect," Aurelia smiled dangerously. "Time to show him what happens when he underestimates us."
Max arched a brow. "Do I get to know the plan?"
"You'll love it," Aurelia said. "Trust me."
Max huffed a breath. "That's the terrifying part."
They shared a smile—an unspoken agreement sealing between them.
Fight together.
Risk together.
Choose each other.
As they parted ways, slipping separately into the deepening night, Max realized something startling and certain:
She wasn't afraid anymore.